Love Me, Hurt Me
by evelia
Summary: Take a small look into a night of acting, when emotions are both given and kept. [Slash] [PWP/Drabble]


_Summary: _ Take a small look into a night of acting, when emotions are both given and kept. [Slash] [PWP/Drabble]

_Author's Note:_ This is HP/SS slash, and it's also something of a PWP. Add to that the little fact that it's extremely short-lived, and I'd say this is almost not worth reading (but it's all in the name of a young author's improvement, wouldn't you all agree?) 'Tis a hard R, although please let me know if you think it's otherwise, I'm horrid when it comes to censuring my own work. It has nasty little words in it, but the context isn't too bad, methinks. This was done in a moment of minor inspiration, and the motivations behind it lie closer to curiosity than actual fanfic-crazed ambition. Hope you enjoy, and for Fandom's sake, review whether you did or not. 

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Love Me, Hurt Me

The floor beneath his back was cool as marble, the hands upon his chest colder still. And yet the warmth they left scorched onto his skin was unimaginable, forcing his back to arch like a cat in heat.

The man leaned in and whispered words inside his ear, and although only half his mind was listening, every word would remain with him forever. Every sound uttered from those thin lips like a curse, every movement of those hands like a work of art. 

"Cry out to me, Harry," said he in that voice of rain and ice. Harry whimpered, closing his eyes as tightly as he could.

Those fingers, long and thin, like spiders they crawled down and upon his navel, roughly straddling the boy's thin hips. He kissed that mouth that twisted in both shame and pleasure, biting at the lips and making sure they bruised. "Beg." 

The other let forth a sob and came up to the other's chest, the small fists curling up above the pale shoulders. "Please. Please, Professor-"

The older man gracefully pushed him back, a slight frown crossing his features and a scowl set in place. "What did you call me?"

"Severus, forgive me." The boy's voice was leaden with grief, his body rising in want, his mind reeling with dread. What had he been thinking? After all that the man had done for him, could he not, at the very least, comply with that small, seemingly insignificant wish?

Snape lowered his head once more, his mouth feasting on the young flesh beneath him. "I will set it aside. However, do not ask me to forgive your insolence. That is not my task to do." His teeth grazed the area behind Harry's left ear, tongue flicking out like that of a curious snake. "Open your eyes, little fool." He brought one of his hands down to the other's legs, and caressed the skin that tensed underneath his touch. "Open your eyes and perhaps then I will give you what you want."

And so he did. Fearfully but nonetheless done. Bright emeralds blinked up at him in a mix of both passion and fear, his cheeks flushed from hours of teasing. "Severus...please, I-" 

"Shh. Don't speak." Again, those fingers touching, probing, beating on the boy's body, searching for a flaw or a place of weakness. "I want your silence now" he whispered. "I want your strength of will." He slid one long finger between Harry's legs, flicking it briefly towards the pulsing erection. Carefully he placed a chaste kiss upon the head, merely giving it the ghost of a touch. The boy squirmed but made not a sound.

The torchlight flickered as a draft entered the small chamber, sending shivers down Harry's spine. God, this was the most terrible of tortures, the highest and most divine form of pleasure he had ever sought before. He was both in Hell and in Heaven, a man he could not distinguish as either good or bad making him plead for more. He wanted to cry for days on end, partly from suffocation and partly from content. But most of all, he wanted to cry for pity. Pity for his soul which had learned to love from the cruelest of persons, pity for his heart that felt this was right.

For somewhere deep inside his mind, a tiny voice said it really wasn't. _This isn't right_, a voice told him. _But it's what you wanted, after all_. 

It didn't matter anymore. Harry did not mind the pain, did not mind the fact that Severus didn't love him. No one could fill him like he could, no one could make him feel so needed. Severus had no one but Harry, and that made it worth all the tears in the world.

Severus turned him over, spreading his legs with such scrutiny, it reminded Harry of the way the man handled his potions. He felt a surge of sick pride rise inside his chest. How many times had he dreamed of such attention from this man before tonight? How he envied those vials of glass and dark crystal. The admiration in the man's eyes as hemarveled over their complexity and nature. Well, look who has his attention now, Harry thought_. I do._

The older man slid first one, then two fingers within Harry's entrance, all the time lying over his body and kissing at the long and thin neck beneath those unruly locks of hair. It was amazing, what his hands were capable of doing. It was amazing, the things that he knew...it brought a cold fear inside Harry, a long, coiling serpent of dismay. Yet he wanted more. It made him feel clean, innocent, to be touched by one so dark and knowing. It made him feel hope, being with someone who had none, and urged him not to do that one thing his heart wanted to commit the most. He knew his intentions were appalling, that his reasons were of the most vile, that he was merely using the man with whom he was sharing this small, yet eternal moment. But he also knew the other was not doing this for Harry's own pleasure, and that made him feel all the more justified.

Severus thrust inside the young man beneath him, pushing their bodies together smoothly yet with strength. He was the sole person who could ever understand Harry's needs, his desperate wants and weaknesses. This was the only time the boy could step down from the farce that was his throne of publicity and well-funded fame and be less than what everyone expected him to be. Severus was aware of the pressures that came with Harry's role in the wizarding world, and far from relieving him of them, he simply served as a reminder that Voldemort was not the only evil that dwelled in society, and that there was indeed more than one kind. Not only that, but each type had its own purpose, its own dangers and persuasions, and Harry, if he truly wanted to understand the Light, needed to know all it's sides.

Funny, the way things always turned out.

Back in a room with dim, blue lighting and a damp, cold floor, Severus once again pushed himself inside, pumping the other's erection and pressing a bitter kiss against Harry's neck. The boy's eyes rolled back and a drop of sweat fell down his forehead, a cry of want escaping his lips. "Severus", he whined, quickly losing control.

"Harry," he says, uttering a small gasp. "Do you know what comes by night without being fetched, and is lost by morn without being stolen?" His tongue darts out between his lips, going over the soft skin of Harry's back as he thrusts himself deeper inside, both of them letting out a chorused moan.

They reached climax together, Student and Master, Harry biting his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. His face was a contortion of both raw ecstasy and a horrible sorrow; the face of a person losing something they both dearly loved and strongly hated. He knew what he was losing, and now wasn't sure whether he wanted it gone.

_But innocence hurt you so much already,_ a voice inside his head whispered. _What did it bring you, in the end, all this good will, all the smiles and vows of friendship?_

They're all gone, Harry.

_Only he's here now. Only he cares enough to still want you. To still see you when no one else will. You know that._

When with Severus, he felt innocent. He felt pure. Untouched. Unbroken...yet he knew he was not. He knew he had been touched by darkness long ago, that his purity had been torn to pieces. He knew his soul was hurt and bleeding, perhaps never to heal again. His innocence was being lost this very moment, and he knew this well, too.

But what was left underneath it all?

What was beneath that mask of summer and spring, of flowers and courage and loyalty? If he lost that, what was left?

"I don't know," Harry whispered back, a sob tearing at his throat. He couldn't see the other's face, but knew he was smiling cruelly. It was like a blind man sensing the dementor's presence, no matter how silent the creature moves.

"Stars, my fool," the man said softly, twisting the younger one's body to face his own. Wearily he looked into those blinking eyes, seeming to see something only he knew was there. "Beautiful things, stars. They shine for so long...only to fall and never rise again."

Harry's eyes closed, hands reaching to frame that face only inches above his. He wanted to kill this man. Wanted to kill him with his own hands, if only to see that wonderful red on his small, pale fingers. Wanted to taste his blood and smear it against his own, to see if it was as cold as his words. Would their blood mingle and become one, or would they not mix and stay separate forever? His death would be sweet at first, he knew, but would only kill his own soul further still.

Was it so bad to want to end with his lover's life, yet want to kiss those lips of velvet and poison?

"Need you" Harry muttered, moving up to meet Severus' mouth. He kissed tentatively at first, then felt the older man's tongue enter and his hands brush against the hair above his eyes. It was a gesture that always caught Harry off guard, something that resounded of love and caring, yet felt wholly different when done by Severus Snape. Almost repulsive, like a parody of something majestic or holy...yet he welcomed it with open arms.

Broken Harry.

Stupid Harry.

You've lost everything you once had, and got nothing in return.

Severus broke the kiss, his mouth now bearing the other's blood. He looked at Harry and took no notice of the tears that streaked his cheeks, or the way his eyes seemed dull, even as the moisture spilled from them. All he saw was the boy he would always see, the same eyes and face and scar. The only difference was that he was now his. His to break, his to fuck, his to love. Harry was his now, even if nothing else was.

Snape's lips twisted into a smile once more, and this time, this time Harry saw it for what it was.

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End file.
